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UNrrED STATES OF AMERICA. 



POEMS 



BY 



WILLIAM JAMES COLGAN. 



S71 Y 



NEW-YORK: 
LEAVITT, TROW, & CO., 194 BROADWAY 

^\ - . . ,/ BTDCCC XLIV. •?!// • / 




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T5 ^311 
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^■^m^-^-"^>^'d§ % 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year lfe44, 

By WILLIAM JAMES COLGAN, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District of 

New-York. 



5- :> M ^ 



John F. Trow & Co., Printers, 
33 Ann-street, 



.N 






CONTENTS. 





Page 


A Twilight Scene . . . , , 


1 


Where is the Poet's rest .... 


2 


Imagination ...... 


3 


Spring . . . . . . . 


4 


Peace of a time that's gone ! when Heaven's light 


5 


Hope ....... 


7 


Remember Thee ..... 


8 


The Sky . . . . 


. 9 


Epitaphs ...... 


10 


A Mother's Grave ..... 


. 11 


The Birthday of Washington 


12 


Guardian Spirits ...... 


13 


To Poesy ...... 


14 


The Land of our Home . . . 


. 15 


Sunset ...... 


16 


Early Hours ...... 


. 17 


Burns ...... 


18 


Give Love to the Bard ..... 


. 19 


Then would I meet thee in the bowers 


20 


One Wreath of Fame ..... 


. 21 


The Orphan ...... 


22 


On the Death of Coleridge .... 


. 24 


On the Death of Byron .... 


25 



IV 





Page 


The Poet's Grave .... 


. 26 


Where Love will pai-t no more 


27 


The Stranger's Grave .... 


. 28 


Oh, when in this cold world we cherish 


29 


Be Thou but true .... 


. 30 


Seek thy pure home, my soul 


31 


The Days of the Gifted .... 


. 32 


The Thoughts of Home .... 


33 


The Homesteads of England 


. 34 


The Autumn Woods . . . 


36 


Dreams ...... 


. 37 


The exiled heart is on the deep 


38 


The Village at Evening .... 


. 39 


The Village Church-Yard . . . . 


40 


The Orphan's Tribute .... 


41 


The Poet's Death-Song .... 


42 


The Pilgrim ..... 


. 43 


The Poet's Dream ..... 


45 


The Christmas Berry .... 


. 47 


To my Harp ...... 


48 


Farewell ...... 


. 49 


The Bride . . . 


50 


Good Night ..... 


. 51 


The Spirits of the Dead . . • . 


53 


Sabbath Stillness .... 


54 


To Memory ...... 


55 


My Vision ..... 


. 56 


The Grave of Dermody .... 


57 


Christmas Day ..... 


. 58 


There lingers o'er each cup to-day . 


60 


My Home ..... 


. 62 


On the Anniversary of the Birth of Burns . 


63 





Page 


My Birthday ...... 


. 65 


Oh, weep ye not the Poet's death 


67 


Life 


. 68 


The Sabbath of Creation .... 


69 


To a Temple of Worship .... 


. 71 


Convent Vespers ..... 


72 


To Genius ...... 


. 73 


Meekness ! thy light upon the flood 


74 


Where are the pure in heart ? the guileless breast 


. 75 


From chaos, Peace arose .... 


76 


O'er the desert's journey dread .... 


. 77 


He who spared the mocking crowd . 


78 


Oh, not from Learning's polished few . 


. 79 


Blessed are they that mourn — the tears that fall 


81 


Where is the mocking crown .... 


. 82 


The Mother's First-Born .... 


83 


On the Death of Channing , . : . 


. 85 


Our Golden Days ..... 


86 


When parts the spirit to its home 


. 87 


To Him, the dweller in the cloud . 


88 


The Dreams of the Harp . . ... 


. 89 


To the Memory of my Mother 


92 


Books . . . 


94 


Days of the Heart ..... 


96 


The English Cottage ..... 


. 98 


The Lark 


99 


The New Year ...... 


. 100 


Church-Bells 


101 


Music ....... 


. 102 


Charity . - . 


103 


The moon bursts in charms o'er the star-girdled sea , 


. 104 


The Mariner to his Bride .... 


105 



VI 

Page 

Night 106 

Gothe . . . . . , . .107 

Come back, day-dreams, come back .... 108 

Stars ........ 109 

The Poet's Dream of Fame . . . . .110 

The Cathedral Ill 

Rise from the grave, my spirit's wing .... 112 



POEMS 



A TWILIGHT SCENE. 

The peace of the twilight when day is at rest; 

The silence of birds in each moss-woven nest; 

The deer on their haunches — their large eyes' calm gaze 

On the stream, on the lawn, on the woods' deepest maze. 

The browsing of cattle on sun-lighted steep, 

Or drinking where courses run bright, yet not deep ; 

The manger — the shecpfold — with creatures so still, 

The wind has scarce breath on the loftiest hill ! 

The traveller is dreaming of scenes he has passed, 
While the languor of journey steals over him fast. 
Remembrance is blending with hues of the sky. 
Each tint seems a path of the lands he went by; 
The hour of evening recalls to his mind 
His home at the sunset he hastens to find. 
And Nature smiles down on the wanderer's breast ! 
The eyes sad at parting, at meeting how blest ! 

O Peace ! when we seek thee in world-sickened mood, 
In the night of the soul, in the passions so rude — 
O Peace ! when we pray in the desolate hour 
For thy still robe of beauty, thy hallowing power — 
There comes o'er the senses the thought of the days, 
When the heart was attuned to the spirit of praise, 
When the sunlight went down on the peace of the good, 
And the soul made its joy in its solitude ! 

1 



WHERE IS THE POET'S REST? 

Where is the Poet's rest ? in Beauty's slumbers 
Mingles his spirit with the form divine, 

Or with the chords of Passion's fullest numbers 
Hopes he to soothe his ardour at Love's shrine ? 

Where is the Poet's rest ? in woodlands lonely 
Charm'd into peace by innocence of scene ? 

The babbling streams unto his soul speak only 
Of Nature's realms ere Man or War had been ! 

Where is the Poet's rest ? 'mid wildwood flowers, 
Or gardens choice with Art's more prized array, 

Nestles his heart within the odorous bowers ? 
Or musing wends upon his morning way ? 

Where is the Poet's rest ? in aisles so hoary, 
Religious forms are sculptured to the sight. 

And names are there — but not the Minstrel's glory ! 
The gems of Chivalry have dimmed that light 1 

Not in the thoughts of Beauty truly keeping 
Vigils of Faith o'er his young day of Fame — 

Not in Ambition's pictures to the sleeping 

Lies the deep charm his restless heart to tame ! 

Where is the Poet's rest ? his bosom heaving 
With aspirations of another sphere — 

Where is his Rest 1 th' immortal silent leaving 
The doubt— the sorrow=— and the longing — here I 



IMAGINATION 



The beings of the mind are not of clay." 

Byron. 



Forms of the soul ! from its pure depths ye spring ! 

Angelic creatures purifying clay. 
The world's corruptions fall beneath your wing, 

As haste the vapours from the rising day. 
Oh that the mind could ever fondly cling 

To these fair habitants in Heaven's ray I 

Tongues of the Spirit from the holy throne 
Of Deity — your voices, through the cloud 

Of human frailties, speak in winning tone. 
To call the erring gifted from the crowd — 

To summon them where Happiness alone 
In songs of Praise proclaims its God aloud ! 

Prophets of Universe ! your solemn reign 
Is in the heart of Man, the Truth to raise 

O'er Folly wafting far her golden vane 

To lure the eye from your immortal ways ! 

Come forth from cells into young Fancy's rays. 
And charm with glory Earth can never gain ! 

Friends of the darkest, as the brightest hour ! 

Visitants t' imprisoned and to free ! 
Still may I woo your soothing, smiling power, 

My high desire in your realms to be — 
Bringers of Hope when life's last shadows lower 

By Faith, our natures changed, to ye we flee ! 



SPRING 



Look out the glorious Spring ! look out and smile." 

Thomson. 



Flower of the year's first sun ! thou presage fair 
Of all things pure and beautiful to sight ! 

On Nature's greensward sports th' exulting air, 
Gladdening to kiss these beauties into light ! 

Hope of our early Life ! so hast thou smiled 

On truant wanderings of a heart as wild ! 

Bird of the early choir ! whose matin strains 
Hail promise of the Spring in notes as sweet 

As winged Innocence can breathe o'er plains 
Where a world's odours wake with incense meet 

To worship Him who gave their beauteous crown, 

Studded with gems that Art has never known ! 

Leaf of the forest tree! the vernal dress 

Of the green, still woods, where musings stray 

In all the peaceful thoughts of loveliness — 
The images of dreams which ne'er decay. 

But picture silently their happy scene. 

The Future brighter than the Past has been ! 

Eye of the primal Heaven ! thou orb of light 
Shedding thy radiance on the frigid soil ! 

Kindling sterility to new-born might ! 

Beauty thus cheering e'en the humblest toil ! 

Day-spring of worlds our spirits pant to see. 

Our orisons of thanks will ever rise to Thee ! 



" My peace I leave you, my peace I give you. Not as the vtforld giveth, give I 
unto you." — Gospel. 



Peace of a time that's gone ! when heaven's light 
Shone upon scenes of innocence and truth ! 

Ere Hope arose to wish a world more bright, 
Or Pity sorrowed o'er the deeds of ruth; 

"When Meditation with a heart at rest 

Scanned earth and heaven, and felt that all was blest ! 

Primeval Spirit of an Eden's love ! 

Emblem of union of angelic host ! 
Star of creation from the lights above ! 

Thy rays all-shrouded, and thy glory lost 
By tempting evil — by a flattering ray. 
False as our pride in this our fallen day ! 

Child of a virgin's love ! thou pure and fair, 
Gift to the angels ! rest in realms of bliss ! 

The winged incense of the living air 

Casts not around an odour sweet as this ! 

Eternal flower ! too dazzling to the eye ! 

Upspringing from the blood of Calvary. 

Cherished ! oh cherished by the Christian heart 
Beyond a world's wide gifts ! thou simple one, 

Clothing our naked form without an art ! 
Speaking in music — by repentance won ! 

The dove sits brooding o'er tempestuous thought — 

Enters the soul undreaming and untaught ! 



6 



" My peace I leave you" — from the holy Son 
Of holiest God, the inspiration fell ! 

Chaos of sin ! thou sinkest 'neath that Sun ! 
Powers of darkness ! vainly ye rebel ! 

The emanations of a Godhead's sign 

Kindle the mass of woe with charity divine ! 



HOPE. 



White-handed Hope, with seraph smile.^' 

Dermodt. 



Angel of Life ! from whose outspreading wings 
Fall rays of happiness, to cheer our gloom ! 

Thou brightest of our soul's imaginings, 

Breathing on man his nigh-spent torch t' illume ! 

Thou guide unto a world we pant to see, 

What in the night of ill resembles thee 1 

Friend to the simple as the learned heart, 
Oh Messenger of Peace, thou com'st to all ! 

Uncared by thee the mockery of Art, 
The peasant's hovel, or the lordly hall — 

Thy light descends upon the lowly head, 

Or where the honours of long time are shed ! 

We grasp thy blessings in our proudest hour ! 

Thy name is sacred 'neath Ambition's dome ! 
And ah ! when Penury's children weeping cower. 

When fell Despair would drive them from their home- 
Thy smile from Heaven fortifies the poor ! 
Thy hand from Misery bars the cottage-door. 



''REMEMBER THEE!" 

Remember thee ! when evening's shadows throwing 
Their lengthening darkness o'er the earth and sea — 

When Memory, like a star, more brightly glowing, 

Bursts through the clouds of thought all pure and free, 
I then remember thee ! 

Remember thee ! when Hope with Joy is playing, 
Those revellers in a world they dream to see — 

Imagination in her sweets is straying — 

Love builds his bower from old Care to flee, 
I then remember thee ! 

Remember thee ! the heart its tide is pouring, 
Rich with the treasures in the time to be — 

Young Fancy's visions to the blest restoring 
Truth at the altar of fair Constancy — 
I then remember thee ! 



THE SKY. 

Bright as young Peace when erst she smiled 

On Eden's bowers, 
And threw above its essence wild 

The arch of hours ! 

Pure as the thought of Innocence, 

With air-taught eye, 
Gazing on realms whose recompense 

Is ether high ! 

E'en the fine filaments of cloud 

Have hastened on, 
As Beauty in her earthly shroud 

When heaven is won ! 

How rapt beyond the painter's art, 

Or poet's ken. 
We gaze upon that home ! we part 

In spirit, then ! 

Hope stretches forth her hand to reach 

The treasured few — 
The voices of our life still teach 

Glory in view ! 
1* 



10 



EPITAPHS. 

Memory reads the marble of the past ; 

Dark lines are there to trace the early doom, 
When Hope fell withered by a summer blast, 

And Sorrow strewed her ashes o'er Life's bloom ! 

Thought rests anon upon a later page, 

Manhood's stern struggles lost in sudden blight, 

A light that shone upon a wondering age 

Is quenched within the tomb's deep, silent night ! 

The history of years finds not its grave 

'Neath marble canopy — the records breathe 

Upon the living world, the mind to save, 

And Honour's offerings round these altars wreath ! 

No cold links these, though of the burial-stone. 
To loving hearts ! — th' inanimate, dear clay 

Speaks in remembrance in the same sweet tone. 
And points to worlds of Love's immortal day ! 



11 

A MOTHER'S GRAVE. 

Child, bring the flowers from the woodj 

The sweet, wild flowers ! 
Blooming in fragrant solitude 

Like Love's lone hours ! 
Oh bring them to the grave of One 
For whom thou'st plucked them ere the sun- 
Then she was life to thee, and thou 

Her flower 'bove all ! 
And as she kissed that happy brow 

A tear would fall, 
To think that she must quit thee I now 
That lip lies cold beneath the pall ! 

Youth, with a saddened step come here ! 

Bend thy light form I 
The day-spring of thy life's a bier 

Whose folds deform 
The eye, that seeks its dearest friend. 
And vainly weeps that joys thus end I 

Man, in thy conscious, ardent power, 

Now turn aside. 
Thy heart is chilled in this drear hour, 

Thy pride has died ! 
Thou art a child again — the scene 
Is in the paths where she has been ! 

Age, with thy hoary locks outspread^ 

How bending low — ■ 
Thy thoughts already with the dead, 

Death's peace — not woe ! 
Thou sighest for the house of rest, 
Thy spirit images the blest ! 



12 



THE BIRTHDAY OF WASHINGTON 

" Praeclarum et venerabile nomen." 

Virgil. 

Wave high the banner ! Freedom cries 
From age to age thy mighty name ! 

Linked with the greatest that arise 

From dust of Greek and Roman fame ! 

Ere Luxury and Vice had hurled 

These powers from their thrones, — the world ! 

Sound far the clarion ! notes come back 

From all who heralded the free ! 
The Spartan on his wondrous track — 

The Switzer with a soul like thee ! 
The birthdays of the heart are thine, 
When Freedom's tears are turned to wine ! 

Awake the thunder of the arms ! 

While Victory, from her morning cloud 
Descending amid war's alarms, 

Places the olive on each shroud ! 
Cease ! cease ! 'tis won ! — the dreadful day 
Closes with songs of peace for Freedom's way. 



13 



GUARDIAN SPIRITS. 

The want of a soul for a boundless space ! 

The thirst of a heart for a purer spot ! 

Beauty for ever delighted to trace ! 

The mien of the saint where the earth is not ! 

This — this makes ye spirits ! the hermit's still cell, 

The world, and the desert, are under this spell ! 

The rapture to gaze on the blue of the sky 

When the clouds are all parted — few sunbeams are nigh — 

The awe of the eye on the splendours of even, 

When all Nature's hues seem reflected from heaven ! 

This — this makes ye spirits ! this beautiful creed 

Holds heaven its glory, and angels its need ! 

The dreams of the past, and the words of the gone. 
And the forms of the loved coming back from the stone, 
And the voices, like music from some harp unseen, 
The quire of angels o'er poor earthly scene ! — 
This — this makes ye spirits ! the commune of heart 
With the few whom it loved, whom it wept to depart ! 

The changes of life, and its wearisome day 

The care of the mind that would hasten away 

The sameness — the torture — the loathing of all. 
When alone in the world, and the heart 'neath the pall ! 
This — this makes ye spirits ! this mental despair 
Holds converse with angels, and melts into air ! 



14 

TO POESY. 

Come from thy cloud, where sun and shower 

Like Time and Genius strive ! 
The sunbeam of our Fancy's hour 

Can scarce keep Hope alive — 
So tender is the opening flower, 

So keen the tempests drive ! 

Come from thy dreams of favoured few, 

Thy spirit's commune, come ! 
The light is mingling with the dew — 

The birds would woo thee home : 
Nature holds forth her purest hue ! 

The child is forth to roam ! 

Come, while the incense of the flowers 
Gives first to heaven their breath ! 

The sun breaks out on Beauty's bowers. 
And wakes a world from death ! 

Inspire our thoughts in these sweet hours ! 
Nor leave a care beneath ! 

Come ! lo, the clouds withdraw ! the hills, 

The pillars of the earth. 
Catch the glad light ! — each valley fills 

Effulgent at its birth ! 
Mirrored pour down a thousand rills ! 

The heart is free with mirth ! 

I see thee from the latest cloud 
That lingers o'er the scene, 

Glide like a shadow 'mong the crowd- 
Go where the Muse has been — 

The kindling eye that speaks aloud 
Of wonders few have seen 1 



15 



THE LAND OF OUR HOME! 

WRITTEN FOR MUSIC. 

The days of the past are around it ; 
The eye of our Life first hath found it ; 
Hope, Love, in their beauties have bound it- 
The land— oh ! the land of our home ! 

The sage and the peasant revere it ; 
The lips of the heart are still near it ; 
The kisses of Truth will endear it — 
The land — oh ! the land of our home ! 

The scene of our sweetest young dreaming, 
When Fancy unclouded was beaming, 
And Poesy more than a seeming — 
The land — oh ! the land of our home ! 

Perchance in its bosom are lying 
The friends, in whose death we were dying ; 
Their words from the grave are replying — 
The land — oh ! the land of our home ! 



JG 



SUNSET. 

Sunset of eve, whose latest rays are flinging 
The light of heaven o'er the wanderer's track, 

Like memory's lengthening beams to sad hearts bringing 
The peace and beauty of their young days back ! 

Light the most tranquil ! over earth thou'rt throwing 

The garb of holiness all ills to still — 
A halo from the world of Hope thou'rt growing. 

To point where Joy will all our ardours fill ! 

Pathway of thought ! methinks with thee ascending, 
The spirit quits in dreams this toil-worn scene, 

And Love with all it loved in future blending. 
Meets evermore the circle so serene ! 

Give me thy smile, in groves at evening wending ; 

Give me the peace I feel beneath thy reign ; 
Into my long-lorn heart the bliss descending. 

Colours with Fancy's hues the days of pain ! 

And oh ! I hold Religion's converse, turning 

My raptured eye unto that quiet sphere ! 
Like to a traveller from afar returning 

To seek again the joys he prized not near ! 



17 



EARLY HOURS, 

Playmates of Time ! ye early hours ! 

How oft your simple sports return ! 
From manhood's furrows spring the flowers, 

And Memory wreathes the mournful urn ! 

Voices of joy and looks of gladness 

Gone with the birds your morning knew ! — 

Those airs will cool our fevered sadness, 
Our heart yet dream those scenes to view ! 

World ! in thy pomp, thy varied pleasure, 
Thou canst not soothe to careless rest — 

Pride ! in thy glowing, fickle measure. 
Thou canst not lead to guileless breast ! 

The lettered lore, Ambition's dreaming, 
Is spirit struggling with the clay ; 

Though bright the eye of Fame is beaming. 
Too many a tear has dimmed its ray ! 

Years unrecalled save sorrow's season — 
Shorn of its gauds the world appears ! 

A mocking spectre to our reason ! 
Whose arm has palsied future years ! 



18 
BURNS. 

The Peasant trod the hill of fame 

With inspiration in his eye ! 
He nobly strove to win a name 

That would not in the valley die ; 
But, like the breeze, would pure and wild 
Breathe Nature unto Nature's Child ! 

Song of the heart from lowly shed, 
How far, how warm thy strains arise ! 

O'er flowers, o'er streams, o'er mountains sped, 
A glorious, rustic sacrifice ! 

From woods, from wilds, from shore and main. 

Comes back the echo of the strain ! 

Music amid the sowing grain. 

Guiding the labour of the steer, 
Thy mirth is with the harvest-wain. 

Thy social life's the winter's cheer; 
And Love, with light, unsand ailed feet, 
Hastes, with thy song, the loved to meet ! 

Minstrel of Freedom, Scotia's soil 

Will listen to thy spirit-blast. 
If e'er beneath oppression's toil 

Her sons in bondage shall be cast ! 
The mountain-air is thine — the free 
Tongue of the winds thy heraldry ! 

Friend of mankind ! thy open soul 
Like purest fount in kindness ran ; 

Thy eye beamed good-will to the whole, 
Thy hand e'er grasped the hand of man ! 

Thy glory was thy race to raise ! 

Humanity has wept thy praise ! 



19 



GIVE LOVE TO THE BARD! 

Give love to the Bard for his soul's brightest dreams ! 
As the air wafts the music of birds over streams. 
It comes a rapt sound from the minstrel's high sphere, 
Where heaven is harmony, angels are near ! 
Give love, oh give love to his harp's wildest tone, 
The heart's throbs are soothed by its feelings alone ! 

Give love to the Bard as his day-star of power 
Arouse from night's sorrows his heart to light's hour ! 
Cast its odours on sighs where the flowers are weeping, 
While morn's flushing skies meet the roses yet sleeping ! 
Give love to the pilgrim on earth's iron shore ! 
'Tis his shrine in the waste till devotion is o'er ! 

Give love to the Bard, as his genius of song ! 

And bear him in melody's transport along ! 

Oh kindle his thought with the one precious Name, 

And guide, on hope's wings, his fond musings to fame ! 

Give love to his words — to his life — to his death — 

As the echo of bliss is the Poet's last breath ! 



20 



THEN WOULD I MEET THEE IN THE 
BOWERS. 

The Spring's sweet breath is coming to the woods, 
The murmur of the air the bird to cheer ; 

Sunbeams will glance upon the wintry floods. 
Verdure arise upon the prospect sere ! 

Then would I meet thee in the bowers. 

With Heaven's smile upon the hours ! 

Hope buds the brightest on the dying snow — 
From the cold breast of Care its hues are born ; 

The promised peace unto the child of woe 
Is fragrant blossom from the piercing thorn ! 

Then would I meet thee in the bowers, 

With Heaven's smile upon the hours ! 

Life comes with Spring ! to many saddened hearts 
The breath of Love — the comforter of 111 ! 

The shade of Memory in its light departs ! 
Joy blazes like the sun on cloudy hill ! 

Then would I meet thee in the bowers. 

With Heaven's smile upon the hours ! 



21 



ONE WREATH OF FAME. 

Wealth clothe thy form in pride ! 

Art, revel in thy plan ! 
Power be magnified ! 

Might be a name for man ! 
But give to me one greater name 
The spirit weaves — one wreath of Fame ! 

Hope, with thy rainbow hues ! 

Friendship, thou changing guide ! 
Happiness earth so woos, 

Inconstant is the bride ! 
But give to me one greater name 
The spirit weaves — one wreath of Fame ! 

It blossoms o'er decay ! 

It lives in every age — 
A beauty in the way 

Of mortal pilgrimage ! 
Then give to me one greater name 
The spirit weaves — one wreath of Fame ! 



22 



THE ORPHAN. 

Mantled, but more with lonely grief, 

I saw his footsteps slow — 
His body bent — no tears' relief-— 

Frozen his look with woe ! 

He heeded not the funeral train, 

'Twas mockery to hi7n ! 
His soul was in the past — could pain 

Make his young eye more dim ? 

The friends upon that solemn tread 
Wept for the worth made cold ; 

His heart was living with the dead, 
Its pulse the bell that tolled ! 

The vacant mind when all is lost. 
The night of Feeling's day ! 

The wreck of soul whose joy is tost 
Upon time's wave away ! 

This stillness of thy birth, Despair, 
From a world's grave art thou ! 

The horror of the wintry air. 
The marble of the brow ! 



23 



All passed to take the latest look 
Of one who loved them well — 

Memory and Grief their bosoms shook ! 
The sob was their farewell ! 

The Orphan tottered to the grave ! 

He gazed into the gloom 
That wraps the form we'd die to save — 

How deep — how deep the tomb ! 

He struggled with his fullest heart ! 

Oh God ! that anguish high, 
As torrents from the mountain start, 

Rushed flooding from his eye ! 

One shriek ! one word ! he backward fell ! 
He and the dead seemed one ! 

The rites were closed — unheard the knell- 
He woke an Orphan Son ! 



24 



ON THE DEATH OF COLERIDGE. 

A REQUIEM to his soul ! let Genius bring 

Her never-dying torch t'illume his grave; 
Let air-taught Poesy here fold her vv^ing ; 

And Memory her place congenial crave ! 
Hither Romance in antique garb shall speed, 

Music, a sister, o'er his ashes weep ; 
Hope will still droop, though Mind will claim her meed. 

While Fame breathes brightness o'er his earthly sleep ! 
Here Eloquence, with all her powers divine, 

Sighs for the spirit that she made her own ! 
Imagination in her airy line 

Pauses for one so meet with her to roam ! 
Man mourns for man — the heart is o'er the lyre, 
The soul will greet it in th' angelic choir. 



ON THE DEATH OF BYRON 

Freedom shone on the Poet's bed, 

The grief of Greece around him ! 
Hear ye not the solemn tread 

Of the great of old who found him 1 

Genius raised her arm of might, 

And Chivalry her lance — 
He fell not in the warrior's fight, 

Yet the lights of his soul advance ! 

They scatter anew the burning brand, 
And temper the martyr's steel. 

And cast a glory above the band 
Who shall rise in patriot zeal ! 

Oh weep not for him ! his ashes lay 
In the holiest bounds of earth, 

Where Beauty smiled with a Heaven's ray, 
And Valour and Arts had birth ! 

Weep not for him ! th' inspired mind 

Walks in a prophet's light ! 
His soul breathes now thought unconfined, 

His page, the worlds more bright ! 
2 



26 



THE POET'S GRAVE, 

Where angel wings are spreading 
His couch of rest — 

Where pilgrims' feet are treading 
The spot so blest ! 

Where Nature's songsters pouring 

Notes void of art, 
Like his own song, adoring 

Beauty of heart ! 

Where cloudless realms above him 
Give radiance bright. 

As the pride of those who love him 
Bursts into light 1 

Where evening's dews will hover 
Like Sorrow's veil ; 

Her grief we can discover 
Only by wail ! 

The moon, that time, is hidden — 
The winds will mourn — 

Where many hearts unbidden 
Weep for the lorn ! 



27 



WHERE LOVE WILL PART NO MORE 

Where Love will part no more 

In those pure skies ! 
From Earth's deep shadow soar, 

With Faith's true eyes ! 

Where Hope is not a dream — - 

But brighter far 
Than wish can fondly deem 

The glories are ! 

Where Truth can never change ! 

One burning light, 
Where'er the spirit's range, 

Guides still the sight ! 

Where struggling life is past ! 

Immortal scenes 
Rise over Time at last — 

Lo ! angels' miens ! 



38 



THE STRANGER'S GRAVE 

They laid him in his grave, 
The stranger in their land ! 

Where evening airs may wave 
E'en from his island strand — 

And sunset glide from home of birth 

In parting softness to his earth ! 

The boundings of his heart — 
The happy days of home — 

The hopes the last to part — 
Were o'er ere he did roam ! 

And though his ashes rest not there, 

His blessings seek his native air ! 

The lone of race rests lone 1 
Perchance a tear may fall, 

To mingle with the stone 

That marks his home — his all ! 

A sigh may breathe its spirit near, 

The heart of Love be with his bier ! 



29 



OH, WHEN IN THIS COLD WORLD WE 
CHERISH. 

Oh, when in this cold world we cherish 

A flame that ever burns the same, 
And 'mid the lines of Hope that perish, 

Find still one dear, undying name ! 

When shadows, o'er the prospect stealing, 

Gather the heart in saddened veil, 
'Tis then fond Memory wakes the feeling 

That days of sunshine will prevail ! 

When gorgeous visions heights ascending 

Cast halo o'er Ambition's dome ! 
How sweet the transports with them blending, 

To think these trophies gild Love's home ! 

When past our dreams of joy and sorrow. 
When light and shadow haste away. 

We join where care has no to-morrow, 
The being of our happiest day ! 



30 



BE THOU BUT TRUE! 

Be thou but true ! I bid farewell to sorrow — 
Care from the brightness of thy eye will flee ! 

Love's visions break the darkness of a morrow, 
When the world's frowns may rest on thee or me ! 

Be thou but true ! how vain each other feeling 
To tempt the constancy of heart away ! 

One wish we seek from Nature's breast revealing, 
One light of Hope upon a wandering way ! 

Be thou but true ! the sky in purest beaming — 
The flowers' blossom — and the sparkling rill. 

Are emblems of the heart, of Truth when dreaming, 
E'en thus with Nature, Love, be faithful still ! 



31 



SEEK THY PURE HOME, MY SOUL! 

Seek thy pure home, my soul ! 

Far from the guilty land ! 
There be Ambition's goal — 

There spirits will command ! 

Beneath the Mighty One 

What myriad glories rise ! 
Their course is with the sun 
And planets' mysteries ! 

Join thou that noble race ! 

Eternity has given 
The rights that House to grace, 

Blazonry of Heaven ! 

Humble those warriors stood, 

Yet firm unto the fight — 
The Saviour's was the blood 

That won that field " the right !" 

The martyr's crown is there — 

The victim is the King ! 
Saints' robes perfume the air^ 

Angels hosannahs sing ! 

The victory o'er Death ! 

The rising of the sun 
With earth no more beneath ! 

Time's toil and sorrow done ! 



32 



THE DAYS OF THE GIFTED! 

The days of the gifted ! how brief and how vain ! 
When the soul struggles on in its silence of pain ! 
When it feels that its visions, like wings of the sky, 
Though they hover o'er earth, with their parting must die ! 

The days of the gifted ! how brief and how vain. 
When the longings of heart in their own light must wane ! 
When the sigh of the spirit, like wind over flowers, 
Murmurs on as it follows stern Time in its hours ! 

The days of the gifted ! how soon they grow old ! 
When the shadows of Sorrow forbid Hope unfold, 
The young tree of Life, in its early decay, 
Falls prostrate and seared in the dark forest's way ! 



33 



THE THOUGHTS OF HOME. 

Oh think of home when the heart is high, 
When the echo of mirth is round ; 

The tendrils that climb in its sunny sky, 
And the sweets that scent the ground. 

Oh think of home in Ambition's page, 
While the eye is glancing proud ; 

Think of the form that is bent with age, 
And the quest among the crowd. 

Oh think of home in the mountain wild, 

In the vale of incense breath ; 
Remember the feet of the wilful child, 

And the guide long bound in death. 

Oh think of home in the light of fame, 

And lift thy spirit to God ; 
Who has shed his brightness above thy name, 

And moved in the path thou'st trod. 

O think of home in the stranger's land ; 

Thou'lt think of its peaceful spot, 
While life is there with the kindred band, 

Or memory faileth not. 

Oh think of home, thy heavenly home ! 

The gathering of heart 
In a world where Time will cease to roam, 

And sorrow will depart. 

2* 



34 



THE HOMESTEADS OF ENGLAND 

The little cottage-porch, 

Whose roof's the swallow's nest ! 

Where the caged thrush trills his song, 
And the petted dog has rest. 

The honeysuckled wall, 

With roses' heads between — 
The thatch is over all ! — 

Behold the cottage scene ! 

The diamond casement's glow 

Beneath the setting sun ! 
The work — the flowers — below ! 

The book whose story's done ! 

The orchard rich in fruit ! 

The trees now bending low ! 
The stream that's seldom mute — 

The anglers' sport and show ! 

The swing between the trees — 

The bat and ball aside — 
The race amid the breeze — 

The barn in all its pride ! 



35 



The summer-house, whose flowers 
More tender, twine their grace 

Like Innocence in bowers. 
The beauties of the place ! 

The table's simple fare, 

Where mirth and song abound 1 
The holy book and prayer, 

That close the day's pure round ! 

Oh, cottage-homes so bright ! 

Like wild-flowers 'neath the sun ! 
Long may your hours' delight 

Inspire the toil that won I 



THE AUTUMN WOODS. 

To gaze upon the stillness of the woods, 

When evening's light, as o'er some storied fane, 

Raises the glory of its solitudes, 

And shows the wondrous hues of Nature's reign. 

To me is richer far than musing moods 
Caught from the colours of cathedral pane, 

Where Fancy dwells upon the knightly tomb, 

Or Reverence deepens o'er the martyr's doom. 

Had Hope thus parted on her heavenly way, 
Leaving to earth the beauties of each scene. 

To soothe the mind while lonely it might stray, 
Dreaming o'er pictured gladness that had been. 

She left a lovely garniture for aye. 

The robe of Nature from an angel's mien ; 

It mocks the darkness of the seasons' close, 

And tells of beauty's tints, where holy forms repose. 

Hues of the boundless Hand that all has traced ! 

Beyond the aim and witchery of Art ! 
Whose visions from the soul are ne'er effaced, 

But kindle the eternal counterpart ! 
Long be my eyes with all their raptures graced — 

My tongue thus ready to exclaim, '' Thou art !" 
Learning a creed among the works divine. 
Whose incense is the sight — th' adoring heart whose shrine ! 



37 



DREAMS. 

Creations of a bounteous sky ! 

Ye soothers of our destiny ; 

That know not Time, in boundless space — 

Eternity your dwelling-place. 

Ye shadows of the past, who breathe 

Life on the canvass that ye leave ! 

Friends of the friendless ! visions blest, 
Descending on the lonely rest ; 
Ye were before Creation's Earth, 
And angels dreamed of Eden's birth ! 
Since Eden fell, their spirit's light 
Comes o'er us in the desert's sight ! 

Ye harbingers of Heaven ! who call 
From out the grave's funereal pall 
The so-loved form — th' endearing tone^ — 
An angel sitting on the stone, 
Speaks comfort there ! we are again 
In days all free from thought or pain ! 

Ye whisperers to the soul ! of things 

Beyond all high imaginings ; 

Lightnings to blast — or suns to cheer. 

Ye spirit-rulers of the year ! 

Ye onward float through many a cloud. 

Till the last trump shall break your shroud ! 



38 



THE EXILED HEART IS ON THE DEEP. 

The exiled heart is on the deep ! 

The eye is on the place of birth ; 
The sun still gilds the well-known steep, 

And smiles upon the cottage-hearth, 

Where all is lone and voiceless now — 

Like the sad tenants, as they gaze ! 
Who think upon the happy brow 

That once there shone 'mid joy and praise ! 

Each favourite nook — each sunny spot — 

Each flower — each fragrance — and each tree I 

Are numbered o'er ; for what's forgot 
Of home, and its nativity ? 

Behold them on the waters wide — ■ 

The land is gone ! — their own dear isle 

Is parted, like the yestreen's tide — 

And who shall bid the wanderers smile ? 

Away, away, the good ship Hies, 

As if it left each care behind ! 
But o'er those waves are sympathies, 

And hopes with the returning wind ! 



39 



THE VILLAGE AT EVENING 

It rests within those evening rays, 
Like peace in Heaven's smile — 

Health glows upon the village ways, 
And beauty free from guile. 

Far from the scenes of struggling pride. 

Contentment is its own ; 
Simplicity is there untried, 

And strife is there unknown. 

The cottage by the sunny rill — 

The fruit-trees bending o'er — 
The shadows of the silent mill — 

The grouping at the door — - 

Childhood's sweet laugh 'mong voices deep- 

The birds' wild parting lay — 
The homeward steps of those who keep 

Blithe sounds upon their way — 

The feeling of the laborer free — 

The love of his small home, 
Whence happy eyes look forth to see 

The father smiling come. 
******** 
The clouds are gathering into night — 

The hum of life is o'er — 
Glimmering is each cottage light — 

Few steps pass by the door ! 

The day is told — the prayer is said — 
Sleep is above them all : a 

May happiness in dreams be shed, 
And joy wake morning's call ! 



40 



THE VILLAGE CHURCH-YARD. 

Where the plain spire points into the sky, 

Simple as is the unison of scene, 
The peasant's ashes in a valley lie ; 

The flowers are fresh where erst his steps have been 

Nature ! how sweet amid the place of death 
The birds still carol from the ancient elm ! 

The breeze still bears from flower to flower its breath ; 
Repose ! — Life's struggles can no more o'erwhelm ! 

Simplicity ! thy cradle is the field ! 

Thy pastimes sweet in valley and in grove ; 
Thy days to kindness and to love to yield ; 

Thy memory the heart, and heaven above ! 

Oft in such spot I scanned the student-boy, 
With classic lore among the rustic clay ; 

Learning to those was but a wondrous toy- 
To these, the pride and fortune of their day. 

Pages of Inspiration ! I forget 

Your magic power in an artless lay — 
The days of boyhood in my thoughts have met, 

And I am yet a wanderer at play ! 

No more, as once, I inexperienced gaze 
On stillness of the grave ! I stand alone ! 

The dearest forms are in the church-yard's maze, 
And all I seek their kindred earth to own ! 



41 



THE ORPHAN S TRIBUTE. 

Where slowly winds each Sabbath group 

To rustic prayer ; 
Or fitfully some head may droop 

For love lost there. 

Near to that path, the early flowers 
Look drear 'mid death ; 

The grass waves sad, like grief o'er bowers, 
Mute 'mid life's breath. 

Close are the tablets of the dead— 

Those mournful leaves 
Of time and all its fancies fled, 

Whereon thought grieves. 

'Mong other monuments of wo, 

And writings chill. 
Where art and feeling strive to glow 

At sorrow's will, 

The orphan's simple tribute rears 

Its saddening line — 
" To One beloved — an orphan's tears — 

His mother's shrine." 



42 



THE POET'S DEATH-SONG 

Waft with the winds the notes I sung, 
And breathe them to each heart ; 

Let the strain echo from each tongue, 
Nor from the memory part. 

Grant me a name in halls of Fame — 

A portrait to the mind ; 
A power that Genius dies to claim — 

Remembrance from mankind. 

Give me again my country's soil — 

A place among her great ! 
The laurel with the warrior's spoil ; 

The lyre above his state. 

Where'er my grave, let hope arise 

Above life's fickle space — 
May love and friendship mingle sighs, 

And bards' communion grace. 



43 



THE PILGRIM. 

The Pilgrim stood with whitened hair, 

With sorrow in his eye ; 
He came to breathe his native air, 

To breathe it and to die ! 

To trace again each favourite spot. 
Where bloomed Life's fairest flower ; 

That scene had never been forgot 
'Mid exile's darkest hour ! 

But, like the vine upon the porch. 

It climbed the higher still ; 
Though round it Malice placed her torch. 

That vine she could not kill ! 

Or like the chamber's cherished flower, 

That threw its perfume in. 
To scent it in an after hour. 

When evening's shades begin ! 

That thought, when all around was lone, 
Threw fragrance o'er his ways — 

'Twas sweet, as he was journeying on. 
To think on early days ! 



44 



And now he stood upon the site 
Of all he'd loved and known, 

Tears ran 'mid sorrow and delight, 
He was not all alone ! 

The forms had perished — for him yet 
Each spirit lingered there — 

That vision he could not forget, 
'Twas in hrs native air ! 



He gazed with rapture all around, 
A light broke forth — it sped ! 

Few suns had shone upon the ground^ 
The Pilgrim— he was dead ! 



45 



THE POET'S DREAM. 

I THOUGHT my dream of Fame had past 
With the fond smiles of other days ; 

That with their charms it sank at last, 
And I cared not for others' praise ! 

I sang of Love ! my song is now 

To wreath its memory round my brow. 

Vaucluse ! Vaucluse ! from thy deep shade 
Could I call up the seraph fire, 

With immortality were paid 

This restless, bright, and strong desire. 

My laurels then were surely won. 

As leaves reflect the gorgeous sun. 

Though Love be ashes ! yet the urn 
Is in the faithful lover's breast ; 

And memory will wake to burn 
Those fires of the heart confest. 

Beneath a world's poor traffic laid, 

They gleam in Sorrow's deepest shade. 

The rills that sparkled in the sun — - 
The waters of the youthful eye ! 

Though Time forbid their currents run — 
Song freshens into memory. 

Imagination's tide flows on — 

The past — the future — mingle one ! 



46 



Dreams ! arbiters of Life ! your world 

Gives but a fairer day to view 
To him from Fortune's mountain hurled. 

Flowers of the air and steeped in dew, 
Ye seek the senses ! elfin throng ! 
The rainbow is your arch, and Love your song ! 

E'en thus we sleep 'neath Fancy's sky ! 

The soul's creation peoples Thought ; 
We cast Care's cloudy mantle by, 

And soar to Nature's realms untaught ! 
The revelation of our home, 
Where stars and suns build up a throne ! 



47 

THE CHRISTMAS BERRY 

Come, then, where the berry twines, 

With its amaranth of snow ! 
Glad thoughts are there, as on the vines, 

With all their emerald glow ! 
The brightening look of Friendship's eye, 

Warming the frost of Age, 
And Youth in all its revelry, 

And Wisdom from his page ! 
Wit flashes like the berry red. 
And Care awhile is withered ! 

Come, then, where the berry shines. 

Like Hope amid Despair ! 
When Wealth his gorgeous rule resigns, 

The humble holly's there ! 
Amid its thorny leaves, the light 

Of Joy plays on — plays on — 
Even so, amid the world's cold night. 

Affection's warmth is won ! 
The ruby scene of Life, I ween, 
Is often 'neath the holly green. 

Come, then, where the berry shows 

Its fruit like Laughter red, 
Its ripened lip smiles o'er our woes. 

And shoots around our head ! 
The wine has such a ruby tide — 

The scene such gladdening light, 
A gem that floats upon the tide — 

A halo in our night ! 
And other thoughts above — above ! 
Of Peace new-born and deathless Love ! 



48 

TO MY HARP. 

Friend ! when no other friend was near, 

I love thee for thy music lone ! 
Thou Spirit above Fortune's fear, 

The one dear gift I call my own ! 
Thou moralist along the past, 

I find thy truth the deepest — last ! 

Music of happier hours ! I cling 

With fondness to thy memory's song. 

And, spite of Falsehood's withering, 
I saunter with thy notes along, 

And play them to my soul ! the scene 

Is changed, but thou hast changeless been ! 

Chords of my better heart ! thy strings 
Have echoed with the joys of home. 

And though no more such gladness springs, 
As exiled from the hearth I roam, 

I hear its music in some hours — 

The tempest does not kill the jlowers ! 

Harp ! though afar from that loved shore, 
I give thy numbers to the clime 

That nursed me — glory evermore 
Surround it, as in present time ! 

Genius ! with immortal dower. 

Lavish bounties on its power ! 

Thou requiem above my dust ! 

My only epitaph, and fame ! 
I yearning feel a cherished trust 

That thou'lt preserve a fallen name ! 
O'er ruins breathing forth my lays, 
To win the traveller to praise ! 



49 



FAREWELL! 

Farewell! first word of pain, 

And last of grief ! 
To show that worlds are vain — 

As this word brief! 

Farewell ! young Love's chill dread, 

And Friendship's fear — 
With thee each hope has fled, 

Death comes more near ! 

Farewell ! Joy's laughing cup 

Is cast aside ! 
Tears tremble, thoughts fly up, 

And Mirth has died ! 

Farewell ! Earth's dying sound — 

It hurries past ! 
Death sinks with thee to ground ! 

Farewell ! the last ! 



50 

THE BRIDE 

She sat at the mirror, braiding 

Her tresses of auburn hue, 
Her eyes with her hand now shading^,. 

The joy broke too brightly through ? 
The blushes were quick, while, aiding^ 

One praised the beauty so true ! 

The heart beat fast — it was seeking 

The joy it prized so dear ! 
The lips were alive with speaking. 

But one tone was not near — 
They trembled — that voice of greeting 

Came music to her ear ! 

Oh, where is the word of charming 
Like Love's, to panting breast? 

The joy, and the wish, alarming — 
The fear amid life so blest ! — 

Delight, and her faith, disarming 
The doubt amid her rest ! 

Religion in robes so holy. 

And pure as angels' breath, 
Has blessed their twin-hearts wholly — 

One being until death ! 
The tears that have fallen, solely 

Hearts' dews that gem the wreath !. 

The home of their hearts ! what blessing 
Rests on that home of Love ! 

The heart ere the lip caressing — 
Like bounty from above ! 

The sweets from Life's garden pressing. 
The bliss the future wove \ 



5^1 



GOOD NIGHT! 

Good night ! and like the last footfall 

Upon your ear, 
Be peace ! good dreams to kind friends all^ — 

Joy ever near ! 

Good night ! while stars are mounting heaven 

To deck your sleep, 
Breathe this one prayer ! the vi^inds have striven 

Harsh with the deep ! 

Good night to him upon the shroud ! 

To him who steers ! — 
This magic o'er the tempest loud, 

Stifle their fears ! 

Good night ! oh Poverty, good night ! 

Rest in thy bed ! 
May visions of thy soul's delight 

Embower thy head ! 

Good night ! smooth not the infant's brow ! 

No care lies there ! 
Look rather on its beauty now — 

And bend in prayer ! 



52 



Good night ! e'en Love must bid good night 

The passions' swell, 
Like suns inspired by Heaven's light, 

Yields bright farewell ! 

Good night ! the old — the weary — sage — 
Hail its still spell ! 

Like sunbeams on the wrecks of age, 
These partings tell ! 

Good night ! good night unto the earth [ 
That morn appears 

Brighter, how brighter than its birth- 
Sun without tears ! 



53 



THE SPIRITS OF THE DEAD. 

Ye walk as angel forms first walked this earth of old ! 
Your thoughts are round us when we dream your mystery's 

untold ! 
Like breath of winds, when sighing forth, your voices are 

all lone ; 
Or, roused by tempests' sudden wrath, a prophet's tongue 

ye own ! 

Ye gather round the moon when its beams are faintly pale ; 
Ye howl amid the sullen blast — ye shriek amid the gale ! 
Anon, when crimson hours enrich the transient scene, 
Ye stand in sunshine revelry, and woodland garb of green ! 

The bark has sped full gallantly, the breakers at its side ! 
They rose ! it sank ! — the freight's upon the tide ! 
The bird that rests upon the wave owns not a wilder home 
Than ye the spirits of the dead, in danger and in foam ! 

When life is ebbing fast away, ye wear another form, 
No terrors in the dying eye — no trembling for the worm ! 
But Faith lights up that purer glance, and ye, a holy band, 
Stand round the dying Christian's bed, and tender forth a 
hand. 

To aid him to his mansion bright ' — to realms of air so vast ! 
The mind confused — the hoping soul claims victory at last ! 
The suns of life, the dreams of power, are fading — fading all^ 
When the spirits of the dead await the judgment call ! 



64 



SABBATH STILLNESS. 

The sea sleeps in her beauty, while the sun 
Gazes with burning glance, like youthful Love^ 

Upon the charms his wondrous eye hath won ! 
And casts his spell of glory from above ! 

A rest is now upon that mighty sea. 

As tempests' might yields to eternity ! 

Each sail appears some sea-bird's flagging wing. 
Hastening to rest ! — or idly curled around, 

Like one sped home from her long wandering. 
Who 'mid tranquillity of scene is bound ! 

A fleecy cloud thus stays upon the sky 

Till shadowy night has hid it from the eye ! 

Each isle a throne of peace, whose freshness tells 
Of Nature's haven of repose — there seems 

The fantasy of rocks, and woods, and dells. 
Clothed in the vision of a poet's dreams ! 

The soul will paint such region of the blest. 

Where all is beauty — holiness — and rest ! 



55 



TO MEMORY. 

Th' illumined page that Time has soiled, 

Few characters remain 
To show where Thought successful toiled, 

And glory shone o'er pain ! 

The statue of the mind, where clay 
Would seek t' inspirit stone — 

To Immortality a way, 
Working in hours alone I 

The breath of Fame along the past, 

Waking the names of pride ! 
The bliss we envied, won at last ! 

The power of Time defied ! 

The union, as of Nature's reign — 
The grand — the wild — the sweet ! 

These are the followers in thy train — - 
These would our spirits greet ! 



5@ 



MY VISION, 

My dream is not in the night alone ! 

The vision is bright by day I 
It speaks in a seraph's soothing tone, 

It points to my home away I 

The eagle's flight to his native sun— 

The voice of th' Atlantic sea — 
The liberty by freemen won ! — - 

Are all things dear to me ! 

Yet the warbling song of the meanest bird — 

The murmuring of a rill, 
In the woods and vales where my childhood heard^ 

Are the sounds far dearer still ! 

The bird that hath built the lowliest nest, 
When forced from its hawthorn home, 

Flutters with wing and note distrest, 
Dying as onward to roam ! 



§7 



THE GRAVE OF DERMODY 

Genius and Sorrow buried lie ! 

The lyre and ashes near — 
As veil of earth comes o'er the sky — 

As pleasure and a tear ! 

Where Mind and Misery are laid, 
Break not the sacred tomb ! 

Nor wander in the passions' shade, 
To wake them from their gloom ! 

Enough, the light upon his brow ! 

Enough, his killing care ! 
Poor monitor, forbear ! art thou 

A lightning of the air ? 

Here Poesy unfolds her scroll — 
Proclaims his name aloud — 

Oh Dermody ! the Muse's soul 
Gives glory to thy shroud ! 



3* 



CHRISTMAS DAY. 

Salvation's birth ! there comes a sound 
From angels' lips o'er holy ground ! 
In worship there the spirits knelt ! 
The miracle of bliss was felt ! 

The prophets' lyres — the hymns of old, 
Were breathed again ! new joys unfold 
A fairer scene than Eden knew ! 
The promised Heaven is in their view ! 

The pious shades rejoiced again ! 
Their sufferings were not in vain ! 
The patriarch's dream — the holy prayer. 
Are more than blest ! — a Saviour's there ! 

And 'tis not o'er the ages past 
The glorious light alone was cast ! 
'Tis even now the self-same star — 
Faith reads it o'er the rest, afar ! 

Each home with Mercy's brightness crowned- 
Each spot where Peace and Hope are found- 
Each heart that dwells on Bethlehem's hour- 
Has the true halo as a dower ! 



59 



Where Friendship of the absent one 
Thinks, and the joys now seeming gone — 
Where Love upon the distant breast 
Pillows its faith in trusting rest — 

Where thoughts paternal anxious heave — 
And mothers' hopes that all believe ! — 
Where Nature echoes fondness back 
From those they love, on wandering track : 

Where'er these bands of flowers unite, 
Oh, 'tis an angel's wreath in sight ! 
These communings the seraphs' lyre 
Would not degrade — this holy fir^ 

Is Bethlehem's star ! — of peace — of love — 
Of union for ihe realms above ! 
One star— one hope — one balm of breath \ 
The incense of the soul 'bove death ! 



m 



THERE LINGERS O'ER EACH CUP 
TO-DAY. 

There lingers o'er each cup to-day 
Full many a thought — in wish we pray I 
More fervent than the rites of old, 
Or Cheian wine from cups of gold 
Cast to the earth — our cups we drain — 
Festivity is mixed with pain ! 

Some wreath that once the goblet bound — 
Some link in feeling is not found — 
Some look once sparkling o'er the rest- 
Some tone of witchery to the breast 
Gives not its chord — the music's strain 
Loses a voice — the praise turns pain I 

And Memory travels with the light, 

Swift as the solar beam, o'er time^ 

In search of treasures the7i so bright! 

Of ecsta.sy— that short-lived prime ! — - 

Of life — of youth-^*-thought — bliss — 

All feeling mingles into this ! f 



61 



It's essence given to the air 

Upon some loveliest day ! 

When love was our mutual prayer ! 

An angel's sigh bore it away — 

Too rich for earth ! — 'twill be once more 

Perchance on the eternal shore, 

Where poet's dreams have ever been ! 
And poet's love has fixed his eye ! 
Then pledge we to the heaven-born scene 
Religion's draught ! its hope on high ! 
The circling hours then who shall break ? 
Memory is gone ! and Love again awake ! 



MY HOME! 

Give me* oh, give me, the land of my home, 
With its green, sunny sea, and its rainbow of foam ! 
Where the towers and cots are the homes of the free, 
England ! my song and my pride is of thee ! 

The rose of thy gardens in fancy I see ! 
That flower is dearest and sweetest to me ! 
As onward I wend on my wearisome way, 
I sigh for the peace in its arbours to-day ! 

The home of my birth ! oh, the home of that rest, 
Where the loved and the loving are blended and blest! 
Hope — Memory—Love, weave a garland for all ! 
'Tis over our country !-— it brightens our pall ! 



63 



ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE 
BIRTH OF BURNS. 

There are days of pride on Freedom's birth, 
And poets' souls are with such earth, 
Where'er the wing of the eagle cleaves, 
Or wave on the breast of ocean heaves — 
Where'er the wind in its wild course flies, 
And mount and vale to the breeze replies, 
The first free light from the dome of Heaven, 
On its rays the Poet's heart has risen ! 

When falls a tree, once the forest's pride, 
The eye is sad o'er the trunk laid wide ; 
When the mountain path that he loved to trace 
Has passed from the hunter's distant face ; 
When a scene to our life most free, most dear, 
Has changed to the hue so lorn, so sere — 
There comes o'er the thought a weight of wo, 
And we feel how brief is the bliss we know ! 

The tone has passed from the magic voice ; 
The flashes of wit no more rejoice ; 
The eye is dim — its fire all fled, 
Like the morning's rays upon ocean's bed : 



64 



The spirit has fled to the spirits' home— 
And Memory's left to the world alone ; 
But ah ! that Memory breathes the strain 
From the tablet writ — from the volumed brain ! 

Another day of the poet's year ; 

A monument of brightness here : 

The birth of such, like a fixed star, 

Should be marked as wonders bright and far. 

Genius will hail the natal light — 

Man will revere — and Time unite 

To give its glories — the seraph's plume 

Waves o'er the Poet's dust — the Poet's doom ! 



65 



MY BIRTHDAY, 

The day of birth ! the day of birth ! 
How fair it seems to greet the earth 
With eyes ail teeming with delight ! 
The infant's smile upon the light ! 

The childish sport 'mid sun and flowers ; 
The childish laugh in those pure hours ; 
The boyish game — the wildly free — 
The haunts of that simplicity ! 

The youth with eyes on learned page^, 
Musing on greatness of past age, 
Raising his fancy's orient beams, 
And revelling in morning's dreams ! 

The rushing onward to the goal 

Where all is struggle — all is soul — 

Thought chasing thought — man's power with man- 

The busy life — the world began ! — 

The stream is from the rock ! the pride 
Of waters dashing far and wide, 
To rush at will in fiery course. 
And form a river in their force ! 



66 



Where ail may glide majestic, blest. 
The region of the heart at rest ; 
Or broken by each chagm that falls, 
In still decreasing waterfalls, 

Be lost amid rough trouble's mass! 
How many a heart in vain would pass, 
But, overwhelmed by fragments huge, 
Sinks to untimely death's refuge, 



67 



OH, WEEP YE NOT THE POET'S 
DEATH! 

Oh, weep ye not the poet's death ! 

His dreams are shades no more ; 
Wings bore away the kindred breath 

To those he loved of yore. 

His harp has joined the angel throng. 

Each tone immortal now. 
Where endless joys bear sound along. 

Inspired every brow ! 

His songs are now to Godhead raised, 

The spirit of his lyre 
To Him who gave the genius praised, 

Who bid his soul aspire ! 

Then weep ye not — his wish is won, 
Earth's weight has passed away ; 

Nature's last incense to the sun 
Will join eternal day ! 



LIFE. 

Thou stream of Time, whose waters silent flowing 

With trophied memories of many a shore, 
Where Fancy's flowers in all their hues were growing, 

To deck thy course, so cold and drear before ! 

Borne on thy breast, like music gently breathing, 
Our youthful hours sought their happy way ; 

Hope's unknown hands her garland bright were wreathing, 
To tempt the visionary's future day ! 

Alas ! in manhood, thy fair mirror, changing. 
Gives many a shadow from our voyage back, 

As thoughtless Pleasure, on adventure ranging, 
Forsook the quiet and the simple track ! 

Sluggish, in age, thy course with toil is gliding 

Through Sorrow's rocks, and Disappointment's gloom ; 

While Retrospection o'er the past is chiding, 
And Peace can only guide thee to the tomb ! 



THE SABBATH OF CREATION 

Thy power was stilled, Creative One ! 

Thy earthly world had rest ! 
Thy voice eternal said, '' 'Tis done !" 

Thy Spirit all things blest ! 
Thy Sabbath thus its light begun, 

Earth's glories to attest ! 

Oh day of peace in Chaos wild, 

When Nature perfect rose ! 
And o'er the first-born fondly smiled, 

As charms on charms arose ! 
With innocence his steps beguiled 

In light, unto its close ! 

Creatures all-new to mortal sight, 

In all their varied mould ! — ■ 
Behemoth in his giant might ! 

Leviathan the bold ! 
The eagle on his native height— 

The lamb without the fold! 



70 



The bird upon the nestless bough — - 

The lion free from lair — 
The ox unharnessed to the plough-— 

The gentle, unharmed hare — 
All kept the Godhead's rest below — 

Peace dwelt within the air ! 

He " saw 'twas good !" and into man 
His living image breathed, 

The soul of praise to Him whose plan 
A Paradise enwreathed, 

And gave to being angels' scan 
Of Eden unbereaved ! 



71 



TO A TEMPLE OF WORSHIP 

Dome of the soul whose humble offerings rise 
From incense-shrine to Heaven's purer skies ! 
Fabric whence Thought in holy garb ascends 
To greet the spirits where its spirit blends ! 
Thou pinnacle of Faith, with angel's sight, 
Gazing through film of time to infinite ! 
Awe clothes thy solemn pillars like a cloud, 
While echoed anthems peal above the crowd ! 
Religion's robes before thy altars bend, 
The censers rise ! — the holy rites attend ! 
Peace o^er the sacrifice enfolds her wing, 
And Heaven shows to human suffering ! 
Temple of Him who gave this world a frame, 
And stamped on mortal his immortal name, 
His Spirit's likeness '.—see his earthly throne ! 
And worship glories wondrous and unknown ! 



72 



CONVENT VESPERS 

Shadows are lying 
O'er earth and sea ; 

Daylight is dying, 

Night-winds are free : 

The vestals are sighing 
Their hymns to Thee ! 

Prayer from the holy walls, 

Censers arise ! 
Lowly the requiem falls : 

Nature thus dies — 
Faith raises o'er our palls 

Sacrifice ! 

Pure hearts are weaving 

Orisons meet ; 
Lips in believing 

Breathe voices sweets 
Earth ne'er deceiving 

Convent's retreat ! 



73 



TO GENIUS, 

What gift is thine I the spirit's power 

O'er ages jet to come I 
Tones of thy mind, like miasic's dower 

From lips when thine are dumb ! 

What gift is thine ! a world's wide page. 

With characters of thought 
Indelible, as signs of age — 

By generations sought i 

What gift is thine t the freeman's pride — 
The beauty's smile — the fame, 

That marks the grave of those who died 
With genius for a name ! 



74 



Blessed are the meek ; for they shall inherit the earth." 

Christ's Sermon ow the Mo0!»t=. 



Meekness ! thy light upon the flood 
Beamed when reposed the ark — 

The dove was with the multitude 
Tossed on the waters dark ! 

He wandered o'er a deluged earth ! — ^ 
Returned without his rest ! 

Again sped forth — the tempest's wrath 
Was calmed unto his breast ! 

An olive-branch, the type of peace. 
To troubled hearts he bore : 

Sure sign the captives to release — 
To guide their ark to shore ! 

Faith sees that dove in every storm 
Where'er our bark be driven ; 

No wave can sink that holy form, 
That messenger of Heaven I 



75 



" Blessed are the pure in heart ; for they shall see God." 

Where are the pure in heart ? the guileless breast, 

To its own worth unknown — to God confest ! 

Where are the lips whose only speech is praise 

To Him who works in wondrous, hidden ways ? 

Where are the feet that misery pursue ? 

Th' unconscious hands that Saviour's mercy do ? 

These gifts with lowliness and prayer combine ; 

These attributes, O Christian, these are thine ! 

In innocence of thought thy way is known, 

And all thy deeds arise from grace alone ! 

This is thy guardian in life's troubled scene, 

That soothes thy griefs, and keeps thy soul serene ! 

This brightens pity in thy kindling eye, 

And sheds thy blessing on calamity ! 

This lifts thy prayer acceptable on high. 

Clothed in the spirit of humility ! 

Where angels' glory, veiled before the throne 

Of Him who claims eternity his own ! 

From lips seraphic loud hosannahs rise ! 

*' Glory to God," reverberate the skies ! 

Ineffable the rays of Godhead shine ! — 

And this eternal grandeur, this is thine ! 

Go then, as Jesus went, to do that will 

Whose end is charity — whose actions fill 

The heart with peace beneath affliction's rod ; 

Go, '^ pure in heart," and thou " shalt see thy God !' 



76 



" Blessed are the peacemakers ; for they shall be called the children of God. 

From chaos, Peace arose, 

And over Eden smiled ; 
Where God man's dwelling chose, 

A garden in the wild ! 

Peace in the rainbow shone 

Upon a world nigh lost : 
God's miracle alone 

Could save the tempest-tost ! 

Peace, on a world of sin, 

Descended from the cross 
To still the foes within, — 

To save the soul from loss ! 

Peace was the parting word 
From Him who died for man ! 

The gift th' apostles heard, 
Ere Jesus' reign began ! 

Then mediate with love 

Wherever strife is sown, 
And trust that Peace above 

Will make your heart its own ! 



77 



" Blessed are they who do hunger and thirst after righteousness ; for they shall 
filled." 



O'er the desert's journey dread, 
To the fainting, chosen band, 

Rebels turned, by prophet led. 

Heaven sent its manna-bread, 
To prove a God at hand ! 

In a desert, hungered, went 

God's own Son, the Saviour-Chief! 
While the Tempter counsel lent, 
To ask from Heaven angels sent 
To give Him food's relief! 

How answered He 1 By bread alone 

Man lives not, but the Word 
Of righteousness his heart must own : 
Whose lips this heavenly food have known 

Will never ask unheard ! 

And come ye to the fountain's brink, 

Ye who for waters thirst ! 
And freely of its mercies drink. 
Nor price nor money needful think — 

Redemption gave them first ! 



" Blessed are the merciful j for they shall obtain mercy." 

He who spared the mocking crowd 
Whose taunting lips their God defied, 

And shouted when the Saviour bowed 
In agony, to cruel pride ! 

The dying words from Son of Heaven 

Were, Father, be their sins forgiven ! 

He who, journeying, wounded found 
A stranger, naked, on his way. 

With oil and wine those wounds had bound, 
While priest and Levite hied away ! 

In mercy to that friendless one, 

Did unto him as Christ had done ! 

Who pours into the wounded breast 
The oil of gladness once again, 

And frees the captive long opprest, 
And watches o'er his every pain ; 

Who cheers us on our path of wo, 

Our God-Samaritan below ! 



79 



"*' Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.'* 

Oh, not from Learning's polished few, 
From Grecian sage, or Roman school, 

He chose disciples, earth to shew 
His immortality of rule ! 

Not from " the beautiful" he drew 
Of art, to charm the Stoic-fool ! 

But minds unlettered he inspired 

With Heaven's force of light ; 
Their simple tongues prophetic fired, 

That shone on Pagan night 
With truth so long by sage desired. 

So vainly sought aright ! 

Orace was their book — their knowledge Him 
Whose blood a world could save ! 

To whom all light of thought was dim 
As clouds upon a grave ! 

In whom was faith and seraphim, 
And heaven, for heart to crave! 



80 



Those " poor in spirit" knelt to Godj, 
And prayed his Spirit's power 

To guide them on the perils trod. 
And shield temptation's hour ; 

Nor feared the tyrant's fiery rod. 
With that Almighty dower I 

The Pagan world looked on, and smiled 

At these poor, simple men, 
Whom Folly on the task beguiled 

To found a worship then 
So pure — so holy — undefiled \ 
^Mid gods, one God to ken I 

But soon the wonder grew to see 

That little band arise. 
Maintain, in tortures, Deity,, 

And Christ the Sacrifice I 
And o'^er the universe to be 

One temple to the skies I 



81 



" Blessed are they that mourn ; for they shall be comforted." 

Blessed are they that mourn — the tears that fall 
Are gems of beauty in the Holy sight ; 

The mourner's grief bedews the lowly pall, 
While faith in God turns darkness into light ! 

Blessed are they that mourn ! the contrite prayer 
Wins back sweet Pity from the realms of Love ; 

The " Man of Sorrows" bears the burden's share, 
And peace is whispered by the lips above ! 

Blessed are they that mourn ! for life is vain. 
Its honours fleeting as a summer breath ; 

Captives we draw the weary " lengthening chain," 
Till freed we enter by the gates of death. 



4* 



82 



" Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake ; for theirs is the 
kingdom of heaven." 



Where is the mocking crown 

Apostate Israel gave ? 
Salvation's King is known 

To earth, from Calvary's grave ! 

Where is th' insulting reed ? 

His rule is over all ! 
Repentance now may bleed, 

And Sin may taste the gall ! 

The Jewish temple rent ! 

The sun within a shroud ! 
Earth shook at the portent, 

As Christ's voice spoke aloud, — 

" Father, to Thee I come ! 

My spirit take to thee !" 
The hostile crowd was dumb ! 

The Persecuted free ! 

Free to his Father borne, 
This " own beloved Son," 

Who came our sins to mourn, 
Till Death salvation won ! 



Bear ye the bigot's rage, 

Nor fear the martyr's doom ; 

Faith will with tyrants wage, 
And Christ your grave illume ! 



83 



THE MOTHER'S FIRST-BORN. 

An opening lily from the parent stream ! 
Or Loveliness awaking from a dream ! 
Thy beauty rising from a mother's breast 
Is hailed by eyes long waiting Love's young guest ! 
How sweet the charge of innocence like thine, 
(A cherub's smile upon an earthly shrine !) 
How soft the glance upon that new-born brow ! 
How speaks the image under life's first glow ! 
Each look a lineament of hope to one 
Watching with mother's eyes her first-born son ! 
Each movement joy to that fond, yearning heart, 
Teeming with blessings for her counterpart. 
The rose-bud clinging to the parent flower — 
The woodbine twining with the odorous bower — 
The fledgeling, sheltered in the mossy nest ; 
This Nature's instinct for the mother's breast 
Becomes immortal in the fold of soul ; 
Twin-essence of creation — this thy goal ! 

Whose hair is floating in the breezes wild. 
With fawn-like boundings of a happy child ? 
Whose voice is ringing through th' ancestral wood, 
Making a music in its solitude ? 
Whose eyes are gleaming like a falcon free, 
Revelling in air of early liberty ? 



84 



The cherished boy, whom still the parent gaze 
Tracks through his rambling and exulting ways : 
Brightens at every step, his wild- wood game, 
While her lip calls upon his petted name ! 
Perchance the dog is leaping by his side. 
Sharing the gambols of his boyish pride ! 

Whose head is bending o'er the learned page. 
Imbibing wisdom from the thoughts of Age ? 
Whose eye is kindling with Ambition's dream, 
The hero — sage — the poet's heavenly theme ? 
Whose heart is beating emulation — high 
To rank with names whose glories never die ? 
The wild-wood wanderer from the truant scene ! 
Frolic is past — and thought comes forth serene ; 
With home-endearments mingles thirst of praise ; 
The future struggles with the careless days ; 
The mind awakes upon a world so vast ; 
A new creation rises from the past ; 
Fame waves her hand to tempt his footsteps on, 
And shows the wreath, the proudest to be won. 

With earth's long-sought applause behold him crowned ! 

Renown, the student's prize — the cherished — found ! 

The rays of Fame around his living head 

Cast light upon the love his pathway led ; 

Oh sweet reward, when mother's hopes are met 

By Honour's voice, to soothe each fond regret ! 

When the heart gushing from maternal spring, 

Finds flowers on flowers round it gathering. 

By filial triumph won ! — its honoured bed 

His musing-spot, when all save Heaven has fle^ ! 



85 



ON THE DEATH OF CHANNING. 



" The great and the good ! 
So simple in heart — so sublime in the rest 1" 

Byron. 



Where rest the good, how pleasant is the grave ! 
Remembrance there her sweetest spot will crave ! 
Prayer hold her converse with the being blest — 
Peace, the soul's harmony, above his rest ! 
Religion sees th' immortals' garb put on. 
While Eaith rejoices o'er his kingdom w^on ! 
Meekness in Christ, his life — his thought — his end- 
The rays of Fame with Godlike virtues blend ! 
The Mind beams forth in charities divine. 
And Honour's glories in its beauties shine ! 
Wisdom is crowned with wisdom from above ! 
Whose light is purity — whose life is love ! 
An angel-patriarch in a worldly scene, 
Wearing in passing ill a brow serene, 
With counsel gathering homage from the heart, 
And teaching joys whose steps will ne'er depart ! 
What sculptor's art can fitting reverence do ? 
What page embalm a life for ever new ? — 
Rising in lustre o'er each wreck of time. 
And breathing '' Channing" as a name sublime ! 



OUR GOLDEN DAYS. 

Weere are they ? With our Youth's first dream, 
When Hope walked with us, amid flowers ! 

When Fancy saw her first day-beam, 

And Joy ne'er paused to count the hours ! 

Our heart unconscious tuned to praise — 

Oh, these were riches — these our golden days ! 

The wanderings of after-years — 

Variety's dull search in vain ! 
Ambition, with its world of fears ! 

Can these bring Nature's bliss again ? 
Can all our steps in worldly maze 
Bring back the riches of our golden days 1 



87 



WHEN PARTS THE SPIRIT TO ITS 
HOME. 

When parts the spirit to its home — 
The wanderer to his place of rest, 

From pilgrim-paths, and ocean's foam, 
How hastens he to join the blest ! — 

To see the loved in angels' light — 
To hear the voices, seraph's strain — 

To feel that bliss is Heaven's delight — 
And happiness eternal gain ! 

To gaze on looks to rapture wrought ! 

To greet a smile that cannot die ! 
To breathe a world of soul and thought, 

Of glory — immortality ! 

Where Fancy is a dream no more ; 

Where Holiness and Beauty dwell. 
How pants the heart to reach that shore ! 

How Prayer and Praise their accents swell ! 



88 



'' Heaven is my throne, and earth is my footstool : what house will ye build me ? 
rr what is the place of my rest?" — Acts vii. 49. 



To Him, the dweller in the cloud, 

With thunders at his hand. 
And lightning-messengers, is bowed 

His wide, created land ! 
Earth pays her homage to her Lord ; 
Her light was echo of His word ! 

Where is His temple ? Heaven-born riaan 
Gives back the soul He gave ! 

His Spirit builds a loftier plan 
Than pride and science crave ! 

His image from his God began ; 

His glory rises from his grave 



89 



THE DREAMS OF THE HARP. 

THE WRECK . 

It lay on a rock near the wild-bounding wave, 
And echoed the song of the sea from each cave. 
The wind swept its strings in the flight of the storm, 
While its wailings are heard for each perishing form ! 
The Spirit of Grief pours its harrowing moan, 
The death-note at night, in the tempest alone ! 
The moon veils her orb 'neath the fast-flitting cloud. 
Like the pale face of Love bending over the shroud. 
Oh, cold is the grasp of the waters ! the breast 
In the tumult of ocean gasps struggling to rest ! 
The weeds strew the shore, and the death-bearing surge 
Sinks down to its depths with the wind's latest dirge. 
But the harp of the heart o'er the loved and the gone 
Still bears its sad murmur of Memory on ! 



THE LOVERS. 

Beauty, thou hast built thy bower 

In sunny land. 
Where Nature casts each sweetest flower 

To tempt thy hand : 
And Music's spell rests in the leaves 

The Harp t' enshrine : — 
The song of Love, how oft it breathes 

For thine — still thine ! 



90 



The garland of thy life entwined 

With odours there ; 
The day-dreams of thy happy mind ; 

Thy heart's home rare — 
Blossoms of Hope the unconfined 

Thy evening thoughts share. 

Alas, for fond imaginings, 

For Beauty's tears. 
When " farewell " its dark shadow flings 

Of many fears ! 
Oh, sad and lonely are the strings 

To parted ears ! 

Glory, how Love has bled for thee ! 

Thy standard high 
Bears in its folds heart-misery 

When young hopes die ; 
And in thy shouts, oh Victory, 

We hear no sigh. 

The trumpet swelled a nation's pride, 

The day was won ! 
The glittering trophies scattered wide-^^- 

The feast begun — 
But thou hast gone thy tears to hide, 

Death-parted one ! 

Silent thy Harp in lone retreat — 
Untouched the rose — 

Its leaves fall heedless at thy feet, 
Steeped in thy woes ! 

Thy breaking heart too soon will meet 
The earth's repose. 



THE MINSTREL. 

The light of song before him shone, 
The " bow of promise " o'er his years ! 

Listing to Fancy's witching tone, 

He dreamed not of earth's bitter tears ! 

His song sprang freely from his heart, 

The echo of that mystic strain 
That other worlds to man impart — 

An inspiration not in vain ! 

Nature to him th' immortal song 

Whose voice is heard in mountain-wind, 

Or where the summer's gentle throng 
Of airs breathe balm unto the mind. 

Where brooks ran brightly through the mead, 
And flowers smiled above the spring ; 

Where the herds roamed in peace to feed, 
His heart was with the gathering ! 

Ah, had his simple days thus been, 
The whispers of the soul at rest ! 

Mingling with purity of scene. 
And in creation's beauty blest ! 

Untempted by the lists of Fame, 

Where youthful lance so often falls ! 

To win Earth's smile, and Honour's name. 
And record in Time's festivals ! 

The heart had not in contest died ! 

The young hand clasped the lyre in death ! 
Leaving his dawning days of pride 

To rise upon his parting breath. 



93 



TO THE MEMORY OF MY MOTHER 

Mother, dear mother, to thy grave has gone, 
With love of earlier years, thy mourning son ! 
To weep o'er days with kindred feeling blest, 
And lay his heart upon a mother's breast ! 
No more we wander among garden-flowers, 
Or cull their beauties in morn's purest hours ; 
No more we read the poet's musing dream, 
And mark the witchery of Fancy's theme ; 
No more, when even's glories fill the sea, 
We seek the cliffs to gaze in ecstasy ! 
While the far sail is wrapt in parting dyes. 
And the gemmed wave is calm as daylight flies. 
Or where the path divides the fields of grain. 
Whose nodding heads bend richly o'er the main. 
The harvest teeming firom the rocky soil — 
The riches of the earth from hardy toil — 
Here reaps the sickle — there the pennant shines — 
Ceres and Neptune garner from their mines ! 
Beyond the plains the village church is seen. 
With ivied walls, and grave-yard sadly green. 
The tale of village life is quickly told — 
There rest the simple, lovely, young, and old ! 
No blazonry shines forth, and peasant worth 
Has humble tribute to its honest earth. 



93 



Yet, as the airs that gently stir the corn, 

Are the heart's whispers for the labour-worn, 

Telling of Peace and gathering of Joy 

In homes where Grief comes not, and tempests ne'er destroy ! 

How broods the widow o'er her only child ! 

One heart is hers — one dear — and earth a wild ! 

Oh, never pilgrim, in the desert-thirst, 

duaffed from such waters, as her bosom burst 

To pour affection's torrent, and renew 

The blossom of her life, though on a rock it grew ! 

And thus, to thee, though long the blossom's past, 

And leaves are falling from the flower fast, 

Source of its growth ! its lingering hues return 

To shed their dying fragrance on thy urn — 

And, from the channel of the stream long dry, 

Arise to meet its waters in the sky ! 



94 



BOOKS. 

Voiceless companions of our solitude ! 

Interpreters of Thought's unwritten language! 

Musicians mystic, like the viewless air 

Bearing your notes of harmony or wo. 

The freshening breeze of Spring to youthful hearts — 

The Summer air to languid ear of Love — 

The Autumn's moan echoes the breast of grief, 

And Winter's blasts around Remorse may howl, 

Piling on guilt its hurricane of storms ! 

Seated with ye, beside the silver train 

Of waters sporting in the noontide heat, 

While drowsily the bee hums o'er his sweets : 

So Meditation, in his careless garb 

Of air-wove fancies, feeds upon his dreams 

In listless happiness. Beauty comes here 

To view her portrait in the minstrel's page ; 

Ambition gazes with an eagle-glance 

Upon the deeds of old, while his heart beats 

With the wild trumpet's summons to his fame ! 

Memory seeks the echoes of the past 

In many a word that captive holds the soul. 

And conjures back life's transitory scene. 



95 



Love sighs upon betrothals of the gone. 

And happy coronals of wedded bliss : 

The willing heart reposes on the flowers : 

Walled in by rock of Constancy, the vale 

Of years deems sheltered from the stormy world. 

The poet comes, and plays his symphony 

To the divine breathings of the lute of Nature : 

Each chord swells nobly from his feeling's lyre. 

Or melts like dying cadences of air. 

To mingle with the beautiful of earth, 

And all the glories of angelic heaven ! 



96 



DAYS OF THE HEART. 

Days of the heart! our childhood's glee 

'Mid garden-flowers; 
Catching the butterfly or bee 

In simple hours. 

Days of the heart ! the frolic ground, 
From school-task, play, 

With shouts and laughter all around, 
The holiday ! 

Days of the heart ! the visit home 

In summer's prime, 
Or when the story's witching tome 

Cheers winter's time. 

Days of the heart ! when manhood's friend, 

To years still true. 
Gives back the form whose memories blend 

With college-view. 

Days of the heart ! enraptured days. 
When Love first breathed 

The words we prized beyond all praise 
With soul enwreathed ! 



97 



Days of the heart ! in bliss possest 
The one so dear — 

Life's brightest jewel to our breast, 
Whose rays are ever clear. 

Days of the heart ! ye solemn days, 
When life's day goes — 

The sun of Faith gives parting rays, 
Eternity, repose ! 



98 
THE ENGLISH COTTAGE, 

Where bend the alders o'er the leafy stream, 
And the sun plays with many a chequered gleam. 
The cottage rears its simple fragrant cell, 
Fit home for butterfly and bee to dwell ! 
The flowers nestle, hedged with brier sweet, 
Or climb the porch, or at the casement meet. 

Labour is forth to till the hardy soil, 
And win from Nature's God his smile o'er toil ! 
That humble home his blessing and his rest — 
Those looks of love — those voices, to his breast 
Oh speak they not of mercy to the worn, 
While arms of Joy await each day's return ! 

Young Innocence is there, and Beauty's mould 
Springs like the cottage-flower, though sweet, untold 
It dwells with emblems of the hand that wrought 
The loveliness around it, passing thought I 
Its charms seem consecrate to native spot ; 
It breathes the air of home, its happiest lot I 

The mother's eye surveys the busy scene 
'Mid her heart's blessings, with a brow serene ; 
While Industry her various arts applies. 
From break of morn till day's last glory dies. 
Around the frugal board the group has met ; 
The little life of home we ne'er forget ! 

Farewell ! the light is parting from the hill, 
But Memory lingers with thy day-scenes still ! 
Dwells in thy quiet nook, in worldly din, 
And Fancy looks the cottage-door within ; 
Deeming that Wealth, in all her proud array. 
Bears but the gold, and casts the flower away ! 



99 



THE LARK. 

Thou sing'st of light, of purity, of joy, 

As, winging from the dew thy cheering way. 
Thou poisest in mid-air awhile to toy, 

Exulting in thy flight to meet the Day ! 
The flowers' first fragrance follows in thy train ; 

The dew-drops linger on the robe of Night, 
Till the sun's glow dissolves the mystic chain, 

And beauteous Nature stands revealed to sight ! 

Breath of the morn, how sweet ! to wander free — 

To pluck the violet from the shady spot — 
The primrose from the bank — the thorny lea — 

The simple daisy from the grassy plot ; 
To see the budding of each lofty tree — 

The green garb stealing o'er the gentle hills — 
To hear the lark's wild herald minstrelsy — 

Earth's bosom-music from her gushing rills — 

These are the precious mornings of the heart, 

Giving it light and beauty ! kindling sight 
To rapture ! with new beams new glories start. 

Till all the air is filled with Love's delight ! 
We feel that ''all is good;" our spirit flies 

To Him whose hand has framed this wondrous scene, 
While thanks are glistening in the grateful eyes, 

And Heaven's charms enfold the soul serene ! 



100 

THE NEW YEAR, 

Another son of Time is born, 

With berries and the snowdrop crowned ! 
The glow to cheer the year's cold morn, 

While wreaths of holly strew the ground ! 

Then welcome him, thou Earth ! nor chill 
Be the heart's words in season drear : 

The sunbeams glance on snow-capped hill, 
And Friendship's hand warms Sorrow's fear ! 

The wren shrinks closer to her nest — 
The red-breast, from his icy spray. 

Timid seeks man to be caressed, 

Where the hearth shows its beacon-ray. 

The martins round the village spire 
Circle, like Faith around the Time ! 

A voiceless, yet a social choir. 
As merrily the bells give chime ! 

Joy reigns upon the castle-height, 

And laughter echoes in the dell ; 
The eye of Age drinks new delight 

From youthful sports remembered well. 

The lips of kin long absent meet — 
The friendly hand is fast entwined — 

The life of Mirth, with flying feet, 
Methinks will leave old Care behind ! 

Love's garland shows its roses there, 
And light bursts forth upon the blast : 

Home's beauty makes a summer air, 

Though wintry storms are hurrying past ! 



101 



CHURCH-BELLS. 

The sound is borne through the morning air 

From old church-tower gray, 
Warning of Time to the world to prayer — 

Calling from toil away ! 

Blithe are the bells to the village pair 

Who weekly meet to pray, 
And breathe the vows in heart's silence there 

They'll pledge in words one day ! 

Solemn the chime to the ear of Age ! 

His Sabbaths now are few : 
Each note strikes deep in the thoughts now sage, 

Within the grave-yard's view ! 

The cross is marked on the infant brow — 

The paschal feast is given — 
The circle of gold — the marriage vow — 

The bonds of love unriven ! 

A toll comes heavily o'er the brain, 

That tells a spirit gone ! 
And stealthily the funeral-train 

Moves 'mid its echoes on ! 

Thus birth, and youth, and age — all years 

Your music ushers in : 
Playing with joy, and mourning with tears. 

So beats the heart within. 



102 



MUSIC. 

Tones of the heart ! where'er ye spring, 

In wayside path, or palace-hall, 
To memory your voices bring 

The feelings' festival ! 
The flowers put on their fresh Spring dyes- 

The birds again their carols lend — 
And smiles come back from faded eyes — 

And words of friend to friend. 

Strains of the soul ! from lips though cold, 

Ye speak again the love we knew, 
In accents dearest, when untold 

Save by thy music true ! 
The page embalms the record sweet : 

The charm but slumbers in the shell, 
To waken when our sighings meet 

The notes remembered well ! 



103 



CHARITY. 

" Me ye have not always with you ; but the poor ye have always." 

Children of Sorrow ! whom a Saviour left 
To teach a world to cherish the bereft ! 
His lowly brethren in Affliction's lot 
Watching in Faith for Mercy unforgot ! 
Types of the Cross, at Wealth's proud banquet, ye. 
Though pierced with thorns, a higher glory see, 
Tread the wide desert to a Pisgah's height. 
And view the promised land in Heaven's light ! 
Turn then, O Pride, to Misery's pale brow. 
And read in Want God's characters below ! 
Regard the faltering step, the downcast eye, 
The heart of grief, the echo of a sigh — 
And think, in suffering was Redemption won ; 
And think, the Wanderer was God's own Son; 
And think, that He " the poor in spirit" blest, 
And gave them Heaven's kingdom for their rest. 



104 



THE MOON BURSTS IN CHARMS O'ER 
THE STAR-GIRDLED SEA. 

The moon bursts in charms o'er the star-girdled sea. 
While thy shadows, O Memory, fall darkly on me I 
The ship proudly rides through her pathway of light. 
Though the heart of the exile is clouded by night. 
The sails winged with Hope seek a far distant shore ; 
The thoughts wander back to the scenes trod of yore« 
And the beauty and peace of the heavens above 
But recall his lone hearth and the land of his love ? 

The waste of the waters, like Earth in its tears. 
Upheaving from breasts weeping silent for years ! 
The looks of the loved have sped far o'er the main, 
To the realms where our spirits would join them again ! 
The moonbeams of Memory bathe Hope in their rest, 
And shed around Sorrow the dreams of the blest ' 

Farewell to thee, wanderer over the wave i 
The voices of Home are not stilled in the grave ; 
But their words whisper comfort in life's troubled swell. 
And the wind rises soft from the spots where they dwell ; 
Giving tones far more sweet than the harp's dying strings : 
The prayers of the past soothe thy wanderings. 
Breathe over thy pillow the words of the heart. 
And call thee to homes whence no dwellers depart ! 



105 



THE MARINER TO HIS BRIDE 

Oh, when the sun has set. 
And stars shine o'er the sea, 

I cannot then forget 

My home, my love, and thee ! 

I see the cottage rise — 

The flowers thy hand has sown — 
And ah ! I see thy eyes 

In tears for me, thy own ! 

Methinks, I hear thy prayer 

For him on waters cast ! 
Thy sighs are in the air 

In memory of the past. 

Blest be thy pure heart's rest 

Beneath as bright a sky 
As on its starry breast 

An angel's form would lie ! 

And dreams ! oh, let them tell 
Of faith in Heaven and me. 

Till homeward breezes swell 
And bear me unto thee ! 



106 

NIGHT 

Beneath thy wing 
Thought broodeth o'er the unknown deep, 
.And Care her form will fling 
Into the arms of Sleep ! 

To Faith's one Star 
Prayer from the lowly heart will rise, 
While visions from afar 
Gleam upon dreaming eyes. 

Through darkest cloud 
The soul's light shines to angels' home, 
And joins the starry crowd, 
And rests on Heaven's dome ! 

Thy awful reign 
Sways Conscience with its bitter heart ; 
Remorse weeps 'neath thy chain — 
Repentance heals thy dart. 

The Martyr's cup 
Is drunk in persecution wild — 
The Saviour's eye lights up 
The suffering heart beguiled. 

Thy solemn power 
Shadows Eternity to mind, 

As Chaos from Night's hour 
Saw glory unconfined ! 

Hail to thy pall ! 
Shrouded in dust Hope's pinions lie, 
Till, rising at God's call, 
They seek Redemption's sky ! 



107 



GOTHE. 

Where is the magic lyre 
To wake the echoes of the wizard band, 
And show the spectral fire, 
And wave the midnight wand ? 

Where is the soaring Thought, 
Up to the realms of high-wrought Fantasy, 
Weaving the forms it brought 
To life so startlingly ! 

Philosophy — thy friend, 
Disciple favoured in thy mysteries vast, 
Whose deep, calm lessons blend 
The passing and the past. 

Thy spirit, Poesy, 
Shone in full glory on his early dreams — 
Breathed words that ne'er will die 
In Memory's proud themes ! 

Time's mantle, gav'st thou. Fame ! 
And Genius casts it on his earthly shrine : 
To honour Gothe's name 
Where is the verse divine ? 



108 



COME BACK, DAY-DREAMS, COME 
BACK! 

When wandering by some shady rill, 

Where wild flowers grow, and branches meet, 

And birds' glad notes with carols fill 
Each deep, green nook of my retreat : 

Come back, day-dreams, come back ! 

Or sauntering on some mountain side. 
Where the broad fern the rabbit seeks, 

The moss spreads Nature's soft couch wide. 
And many a spring its music speaks : 

Come back, day-dreams, come back ! 

Or seated in some rocky cave. 

With Ocean's sportive face before, 
The white sails darting o'er the wave. 

The sunbeams on the pebbled shore : 
Come back, day-dreams, come back ! 



109 



STARS. 

Words of the angels, ye mysterious signs 
Upon th' Almighty Temple ! how Desire 
Craves your bright knowledge. Vainly lovers' lips 
Have paragoned their Beauties to your charms. 
The hero's look upon your volume vast 
(Wondrous emblazonry of Time's dark page !) 
Has thought to read his glories in your eyes ! 
Not so Religion, with her godlike gaze 
Soaring through lesser lights to Heaven's Sun, 
Where all your paling brightness is unknown. 
Save as the glittering drops from Fount of Light. 



110 



THE POET'S DREAM OF FAME. 

Ambition's light fell sickly on his brow, 

The paling hue of fantasy, whose beams 
Give birth to witchery in her midnight glow, 

And all the spectres of a poet's dreams ! 
Thought revels thus on an entranced page, 

'Mid strange creations of the mystic brain. 
Living in glories of a distant age, 

Or joining Fancy's young and wandering train. 

Mind, traveller in starry, unknown space. 

Thou consort of the angels in their ken ! 
Careering with them in immortal race. 

And bearing visions to the eyes of men : 
Clothed with prophetic charms, thy powers arise. 

Unfold the spirit-regions to our sight. 
Breathe to the heart its high-born destinies, 

Listing to seraphs' songs in world of Night ! 

Fame — Fame ! the beautiful — the bright — the sought ! 

Memory's fond jewel to our earthly shrine ! 
The epitaph we deem Life cheaply bought. 

So that we win these characters from thine ! 
Thy wing is heard amid the darkest doom. 

And plays with brighter glory than our day ; 
Thy voice breaks ope the chambers of the tomb. 

And calls the dreamer from his home of clay. 



Ill 



THE CATHEDRAL. 

Towering, like Faith, to reach the sky. 
Thy sacred head its age uprears. 

With moss and ivy canopy. 
To shelter Ruin in its fears ! 

The patriarch's light is on thy brow ; 

Solemn with prayer thy features glow ! 

Thou standest pillared high in Thought 
Thy arches with our Reverence bend 

And Supplication breathes untaught 
The language of its ancient friend. 

Thy voice, the organ's swell to awe. 

In grandeur music sounds God's law ! 

Mortality around thee clings 

With arms of prayer, and enters in 

Repentance with tears' offerings, 
The humble sacrifice for sin. 

Death, in thy shadows, waits for day. 

The resurrection o'er decay ! 



112 



RISE FROM THE GRAVE, MY SPIRIT'S 
WING. 

Rise from the grave, my spirit's wing, 

And pray to join the gone — 
To quit this time of suffering, 

And robes of Peace put on. 

Thought, quit this vain and struggling throng, 

Thy visions pure fulfil ! 
By adoration borne along. 

Ascend the holy hill ! 

There sits thy God on mercy-seat ; 

There is His smile benign. 
Though saints yield homage at His feet, 

Sinner, the Saviour's thine ! 



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